


Painting Smiles

by emynii, ObliObla



Series: Nia & Obli's Whumptober 2019 [7]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Child Neglect, Gen, Post-Season/Series 04, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-27 01:17:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20939897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emynii/pseuds/emynii, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/pseuds/ObliObla
Summary: It was easier to smile, and laugh.For the Whumptober prompt: isolation





	Painting Smiles

Mom and Dad always meant so well.

They _ had _ to work all the time. Their jobs were important. Trixie knew that. And they tried _ so _ hard to be good at being parents. They loved her, and she never questioned that.

But sometimes, when she had to make her own way home; when dinner was something she found in the back of the freezer, the kitchen empty except for the beeping of the microwave; when no one ever asked about that really cool project—it _ hurt _.

She dreamed about Malcolm, sometimes, and the bad guy who’d come to Lucifer’s house. But she didn’t tell Mom, or Dad. And it wasn’t the kind of thing she could tell Maze. So she told Miss Alien, late at night, when everyone was asleep.

But she was getting too old for stuffed toys, wasn’t she?

Her friends at school definitely were. Too old for little kid stuff, too old to still believe when Trixie told them her best friend was a demon. And they made fun of her for it. So she stopped talking to them, too. When they went home, Trixie knew they had their moms or dads waiting for them. Or their nannies, their brothers, their sisters. But, sometimes at least, Trixie had no one.

She was still sad a lot, like she’d told Lucifer, before he’d left. And Mom had told her she could tell her _ anything. _ But when Trixie looked at her, trying so hard to pretend she wasn’t sad too…

It was easier to smile, and laugh, and just not say.

There wasn’t anyone to pick her up from school today, and she almost wished it hurt more than it did. But she was used to it by now, and she didn’t feel much of anything at all. She’d figured out a long time ago how to convince the Uber drivers to give her a lift. All she needed was Mom’s credit card number and to promise that it was _ definitely _ an emergency. A few tears in her eyes generally sold the rest.

She was glad grandma had taught her how to cry on command.

She unlocked the door and wandered into an empty house, throwing her backpack onto the couch before heading for the kitchen. Three minutes later by the beep of the microwave she returned to the couch, plastic tray in hand. She turned Netflix on, and put on one of those movies Maze had showed her.

She didn’t see Maze much, since she moved out. She was busy with baby Charlie and bounty hunting and being Maze.

When she finished eating, Trixie went back to the kitchen and threw the tray away. She froze, staring at the pictures on the fridge—Mom and Dad, holding hands. She knew why they got divorced, or part of it, at least, discovered in whispers and shouts. She didn’t blame herself, though lots of adults seemed to think she did. She was glad they had; they were happier that way. But going back and forth between houses… Sometimes it made her feel so _ tired. _

The next picture, tape peeling so it fluttered in the air conditioned breeze, was Maze. Her face was all cool and messed up like it had been that one Halloween, when Trixie still woke up most mornings panting and crying, thinking Malcolm had come back. But she learned that day that Maze was some kind of monster, like Lucifer was.

But monsters had never been the ones that hurt her.

Maze _ had _ hurt her, though. Had moved out and told her she was a brat and she didn’t want to be her friend. And she’d apologized, and Trixie _ thought _ she understood why she’d done it, but, still, it _ hurt. _ Like Mom and Dad hurt. Like Lucifer did.

The last picture, which used to be her favorite, was Lucifer. She’d gotten yelled at in school for drawing it, and had learned to stop telling the teachers and counselors things, too. They didn’t understand that she wasn’t scared of _ him__;_ even if his eyes turned red, and he scared people, they were _ bad _ people.

But it hurt too much to look at now he was gone.

She went back into the living room, pulled out her homework, and finished it to the sound of the tv blaring in the background. She got a text. Mom was running late. She was sorry.

Trixie knew she was.

Bedtime came, and she turned off the tv. She pulled her door open and stared back at the empty living room for a second, imagining happy people smiling and laughing, before turning away.

The lights went off with a quiet, little _ click. _


End file.
